I view all my actions as steps,
Steps toward something,
Not always known,
I have a tendency to watch where my feet go,
Shambling over dead thoughts,
And stumbling over bleak instances of the past,
But I never fall,
It never hurts,
For long, well…it never lasts.
Is fixed facing forward,
Stuck in the gist of things,
I can’t turn back.
The challenge comes from the past’s embrace,
It comes from the emotion that is latched around my neck,
I have blotchy bruises caused from the strength of my resistance; sore muscles,
I pray to God at night that my neck doesn’t break,
I find my hands gripped around the nape,
It’s not that from these latches that I cannot escape,
But the power that I need to exert in order for them to break,
Not to mind…that I also have shackles around my ankles that stop me from dancing for joy,
It has dumbed down to this awkward hop in wake of achievement,
But celebration nonetheless.
Some would say I’m fighting myself,
Simply because I won’t turn around,
And face what I direct my steps against,
A yank from the chain of my demons I could dispel,
But I cannot bring myself to please them with usual hell,
I must walk, fight,
Remain the living contradiction to this blight,
Against all…another step.